


(i got you) in my head

by themetgayla



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movie)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Slow Burn, chloe is a silly bean, i feel awful for beca, kommissar is nice, very angsty i’m sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-15 23:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14151675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetgayla/pseuds/themetgayla
Summary: “People warn you about the world. They tell you not to drink too much, not to take drugs, not to smoke, but they never warn you not to fall in love. Lovesucks, and Beca wishes she'd been told about the effects of heartbreak. She thinks a seemingly eternal pit of depression is worse than being an alcoholic or a smoker. She'd rather be slowly killing her lungs than going through this.”





	(i got you) in my head

**Author's Note:**

> new fic! just a oneshot i wrote yesterday/today. i apologise if the summary is awful; i’m terrible at writing them.
> 
> this is sad, i’m warning you now.
> 
>  
> 
> **tw: mentions of self-harm and depression**

“We did it, Beca! We actually did it!” Chloe squeals, enveloping her best friend in a tight, almost suffocating hug.

Beca’s heart clenches as she wraps her arms around Chloe, inhaling her fruity perfume. She wishes she could just pull her into a kiss and confess her love, but she can’t. Even though she’s resigned herself to pining after Chloe in silence, it still stings. “I know Chlo, I was performing right next to you,” she says, chuckling.

Beca glances round their dressing room, a smile playing at her lips as she watches everyone hugging and cheering, eyes bright and smiles wide. It’s loud and crowded with them all packed in there, but Beca feels at home with all the Bellas. They’re her family.

“Now it’s time to partyyyy,” Chloe announces, reapplying her pink lipstick for the fourth time in ten minutes. (She’s been kissing people’s cheeks in excitment a little too much.)

The Bellas stream out of the small room like excited puppies, chattering excitedly. Beca doesn’t really like parties — or people, for that matter — but she’s looking forward to spending time with Chloe. Perhaps they’ll even be able to dance together.

Chloe’s been acting strangely towards her for a while now though. (The quick hug she'd been given was clearly a spur of the moment thing.) Ever since they first met DSM, she’s been a bit hostile. Beca suspects it has something to do with the fact she can’t control her mouth around the Kommissar, but she can’t help it.

Beca’s been sexually confused for a while now. She’d thought she was straight, until the Shower Incident with Chloe. But then she was with Jesse, and she’d managed to convince herself for a while that she really was straight. But then Chloe had knocked down her walls with a bulldozer and wormed her way into Beca’s bubble. They’d become close, closer than Beca thought best friends were supposed to be.

Then Chloe had made the comment about experimentation at Aubrey’s camp, and her suppressed feelings had come back full force. Now she doesn’t even know what to think.

The blonde goddess from DSM had only messed with her mind. She’d been convinced more than ever that she was bisexual, if not a full blown lesbian. (She really hadn’t liked Jesse all that much and had constantly avoided sex with him.)

Chloe’s flirty smiles have turned to wistful glances and hurt glares in the past few weeks. Beca hates that she doesn’t know what to do or what she wants. She wants Chloe, she knows she does, but she doesn’t know if she can accept that she’s _gay_.

She’d grown up being told that homosexuality was wrong, frowned upon, and an abomination. But she’s not a monster, is she? The thought makes Beca’s stomach twist. _What if that’s why Chloe doesn’t like me? What if she’s got me all figured out, and has decided she hates me?_

Just thinking about it convinces Beca that Chloe hates her. Chloe knows she’s gay, and hates her.

That must be it.

Suddenly Beca’s not interested in dancing with Chloe anymore.

The Bellas enter the huge hall and survey the scene, watching the hundreds of people dancing on the floor and drinking at the open bar. Loud music is blaring and the place smells of a mixture of sweat and perfume. Beca swallows uncomfortably and folds her arms across her chest, feeling oddly exposed.

Cynthia-Rose immediately grabs Stacie’s hand and drags her off to dance without so much as a goodbye. Beca watches them heading for two hot women gyrating against each other in the corner of the dance floor.

When Beca looks round at the remaining clump, Lilly is nowhere to be seen. She’s probably killing someone, if her quietly muttered words are to be believed. Jessica and Ashley — she still has no idea which is which — are holding hands, cuddling into each other as they stand side by side, arms wrapped around each others’ waists.

“Well I don’t know about you aca-bitches, but I’m off to dance,” Fat Amy says suddenly, her eyes fixed on a particular dark-haired German. More specifically, Pieter, Kommissar’s right-hand man.  
Chloe scans the dance floor, her eyes lighting up as she spots something — or someone? Beca isn’t sure. The redhead leaves abruptly, not even sparing her a second glance.

Beca tries to ignore the hurt that twists in her gut. She fights back the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes as the Bellas all slowly leave her side. Beca’s left standing alone, dejected. She’s about to turn and leave when she feels a soft hand land on her arm. 

“Feisty Maus! Leaving so soon?”

Beca groans and spins back round, her chest tightening. Kommissar smirks as the small brunette frowns, her eyebrows creasing. “What do you want?” Beca asks quietly, not even in the mood to shove the Bellas win in her face.

“No angry comeback? What’s wrong, Maus?” Beca’s surprises to see that Kommissar actually looks concerned. Well, as concerned as she can look dressed in all leather. Beca’s shoulders sag as she fights the urge to search for Chloe in the crowded hall.

“It’s nothing... You wouldn’t get it.” Beca shrugs. Kommissar frowns and stares at the smaller woman curiously.

“This is about Chloe, is it not?”  
Beca’s eyes widen in shock. “How did you—How did you know that?” She steps back instinctively, suddenly feeling defensive. Is she really that transparent? No wonder Chloe figured out her secret so easily.

God, now she feels _really_ stupid.

“It’s all over your face. You look at that girl with a look of love.” Kommissar smiles at her softly, and Beca reasons that perhaps she’s not as bad as she thought. Arrogant? Sure. But mean? Maybe not.

Nevertheless, Beca really doesn’t feel like staying to talk anymore.

"I don't really feel like talking anymore. I'll catch you later," Beca says absently, reaching up to fiddle with her hair. The tall blonde stares at her intensely for a few minutes, her blue eyes bright and focused. Beca's reminded of Chloe, and her heart aches. Unrequited love sucks.

People warn you about the world. They tell you not to drink too much, not to take drugs, not to smoke, but they never warn you not to fall in love. Love _sucks_ , and Beca wishes she'd been told about the effects of heartbreak. She thinks a seemingly eternal pit of depression is worse than being an alcoholic or a smoker. She'd rather be slowly killing her lungs than going through this.

Beca sighs as Kommissar nods and turns to leave. "I'll be at the bar if you want to talk," she says gently, her hand brushing against the small brunette's. Beca just jerks her head in acknowledgment and looks around the dance floor, hoping to catch a glimpse of fiery red hair and dazzling blue eyes legs. She doesn't know why, but she looks for a few minutes, unable to spot the one her eyes are searching for. Deciding to look again later, she begins to turn around to follow Kommissar to the bar.

Then she sees her.

Her fiery hair is cascading down her back, glowing under the flashing disco lights. Beca admires the tight black dress clinging to her body, accentuating her curves deliciously. She unconsciously licks her lips as she watches Chloe dance alone, her arms above her head. Her eyes are sparkling and a wide smile is painted across her face. She looks radiant.

Beca’s breath catches in her throat, and she finds herself unable to breath properly for a moment. She presses a hand to her chest to try and ground herself, ignoring the thumping of her heart beneath her fingers. Beca almost begins to walk over, spurred on by the sheer beauty of the redhead. It's an awful idea, she knows, but she's missed Chloe these past weeks. She's missed her best friend.

But then she stops.

A brunette from DSM — Aren, maybe? — approaches Chloe and stops, grinning as she drags her eyes over the redhead's body appreciatively. Chloe leans forwards and presses a kiss to the brunette's cheek, her pink lipstick leaving a visible mark on her tanned skin. 

Beca feels a spike of jealously shoot through her, and clenches her fists unconsciously. How _dare_ Chloe kiss that woman? Chloe is _hers_. But then she remembers that Chloe isn't hers, and she probably never will be. Chloe can kiss whoever the fuck she wants. Beca barely registers that Chloe kissed a _woman_ through the pain spreading in her chest.

As Aren spins Chloe around and pulls her against her, Beca feels bile rise into her throat. God, when did she become such a jealous person? When the two women begin to grind against each other, Beca turns and flees, almost running to the bar in an attempt to get away from the dance floor.

And so it's decided. She's going to get hammered.

* * *

“You finally decided to join me!” Kommissar comments, her cheeks sporting a healthy flush and her eyes glossy. It's clear she's knocked more than a few shots back, and, by the looks of it, she's worse at holding her liquor than Beca would have imagined.

“Indeed,” Beca mumbles, grabbing two shots off the counter and downing them in quick succession. She winces as the hard liquor slid down her throat, enjoying the burn it leaves in its wake. A little pain is what she needs right now. Her mind flicks to the small razor she has hidden in her suitcase, but immediately pushes the thought away. Alcohol will work just fine.

A tall handsome man approaches them and winks, clearly on a mission to pick up a girl (or girls). Beca shakes her head quickly and knocks back a few more shots, enjoying the way they sting her throat and eyes. Her vision begins to swim a little, but she ignores it in favour of hailing the barman.

Kommissar leaves with a half apologetic smile, one arm wrapped around the man's waist. Beca watches them head to the dance floor and start moving their bodies to the beat. She grimaces as the man grinds against the attractive blonde, his hands roaming like a horny teenager. Kommissar doesn't seem to mind though, grinning drunkenly as she enthusiastically presses her lips to his.

Beca can't set foot on that dance floor, not when she knows Chloe Beale is on it, grinding skilfully against the woman from DSM. How does she even know her anyway? Her stomach twists with jealousy, and she tears her eyes away as she knocks back the rest of her drink.

Her breathing becomes shallow and her eyes begin stinging as she fights back the tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks. Signalling for two more shots, she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to rid the image of gyrating bodies from the backs of her eyelids.

She can't do it.

And so she proceeds to get very drunk, naïvely hoping the alcohol will make her forget what she’s seen and the pain of knowing nothing can ever come of her stupid feelings. Love fucking _sucks_.

* * *

Beca's drunk, _really_ drunk. She can't even begin to count how many shots she’s thrown back, begging the bartender for drink after drink. Her vision is beyond blurry, her tongue feels oddly loose. She doesn't care though; she's still trying to forget a certain redhead, but it's useless. No matter how much she drinks, she just cannot get Chloe out of her head. 

She gazes out onto the dance floor, her eyes still seeking out red hair and a gorgeously toned body. She's a masochist, it seems. It's no news to her, really. She's been beating herself up over her feelings for Chloe for years. The scars littering her legs and stomach are clear proof of that.

Kommissar is still dancing with that man — if making out while grinding together can be called dancing. Cynthia-Rose and Stacie are dancing too, feeling each other up. Beca thinks it's sweet that they're together. (Or just hooking up — who knows when it comes to Stacie?)

Fat Amy is nowhere to be seen, though Beca's pretty sure she’d spotted her sneaking off with Pieter. Lilly is still missing, and Jessica and Ashley are cuddling in the corner — the brunette can't tell if they're drunk or not; every time she looks at them they're pressed against each other. And Flo, well... she's dancing atop a table, waving a wine glass in the air as both men and women cheer and clap around her.

Everyone is enjoying themselves, it seems. Everyone except her.

Beca knows she shouldn’t torture herself over Chloe not liking her. They're leaving to go back to America tomorrow, and then they're all going their separate ways. In her inebriated state, every hostile look Chloe's given her over the past weeks seems ten times worse. Chloe probably _hates_ her. Beca's pretty sure it's because Chloe's figured out she's gay and that she has a crush on her.

Chloe hasn't wanted to cuddle with her in months, even before going to Aubrey's camp to "find their sound again". Beca's skin itches, almost craving the touch of her razor. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut and wills the thoughts away, trying not to think about the fact Chloe's probably disgusted with her lesbianism. She hasn't even told Chloe — hell, she hasn't told _anyone_ — but it's clearly not hard to see.

Fighting back tears, she gulps down the rest of her drink, not even flinching as the burning liquid slides down her throat. She's so used to it by now that it doesn't bother her. Vision swimming, she hops off the barstool, her small legs wobbling underneath her in an attempt to keep herself upright.

Beca has to get out of here, away from hundreds of sweaty bodies and drunken dancing. After dumping her empty glass on the counter, she begins to walk through the throngs of people, tottering dangerously on her heels as she goes.

Out of habit, her eyes scan the dance floor, once again trying to spot Chloe She can't help it and she hates it. She scowls instinctively as she sees the redhead grinding up against Aren still, her hands wandering over the brunette’s body. 

Beca feels sick.

She's not even sure Chloe's had any alcohol, which makes the whole thing worse. She can't even tell herself Chloe's making a drunken mistake to make herself feel better.

The room suddenly feels even hotter, the air burning her pale skin. Her chest tightens as a sob travels up her throat. She swallows it down and turns to push forcefully through the crowds, ignoring the fact she can barely keep herself upright.

Finally, Beca finds a door, and pushes it open. The cool air of the corridor hits her, washing over her sticky skin like a welcome breeze. She stumbles down the wide corridor, swaying dangerously on her four-inch heels as she walked away from the loud music and laughing people.

Tears prick at her eyes as she recalls the sight she’d just seen. God, why does she do this to herself? Of course she has to love the unavailable one, the one that probably hates her guts. Things never work out her way, do they? She's always the one in pain, while everyone carries on around her, seemingly oblivious.

Deep in thought, she stumbles, tripping over her own feet. She falls face-first onto the carpeted floor, hands shooting out to break the fall. A sharp pain spreads up her arm, and she hisses as her wrist begins throbbing. Beca welcomes the pain, enjoying the painful throbbing as she presses her thumb where it hurts.

It's only sprained, but Beca almost wishes it was broken.

A pained sob escapes her mouth as tears roll down her cheeks. Fighting the urge to punch the wall, Beca crawls to the side of the corridor and leans with her back against the wall, tucking her legs up into her chest. She slings her arms around them and drops her head down to rest on the tops of her knees.

God, she really is a mess.

“Beca?”

Beca snaps her head up in confusion, her vision blurry from the alcohol and tears, to see one particularly gorgeous face, peering down at her, hypnotising eyes full of concern. Great. Just _great_. It's the woman she’s been staring at all night, the woman who’d been grinding with a practical stranger, the woman who’s hostile actions have cut through her like a knife.

The woman she‘s been yearning to see, but trying to avoid at the same time. She craves Chloe's presence. She needs the redhead more than air. Beca's drawn to her like a moth to a flame and it _hurts_.

“Fuck off,” Beca slurs, trying to blink back her rapidly falling tears. Of course, she's unsuccessful; they continued to roll down her flushed cheeks, splashing onto her dress. Chloe frowns, because Beca isn't usually like this, not even drunk Beca.

But then again, she's never seen Beca with puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks. Concerned for her best friend, Chloe crouches down on her heels — she doesn't even wobble; she's definitely not drunk — and places a hand on Beca's forearm. “What's wrong Beca? Why aren't you celebrating our win?”

Beca wants to believe it's concern she can hear in her voice, wants to believe it's worry she can see in those gorgeous eyes, but who is she kidding — it isn't like Chloe would be worried about her. Chloe hates her now. Chloe's disgusted by the fact she's gay, she's almost certain of it.

Maybe it isn't even Chloe crouching next to her, a gentle hand on her arm. Maybe it's someone else who has fiery red hair and dazzling blue eyes. Yes, that's probably it.

And so the woman next to her suddenly becomes someone else, her mind playing tricks on her in an attempt to protect herself from further hurt.

Beca doesn't really want to talk. She doesn't want to tell some random woman about her struggles and problems, but of course, she's blind drunk, and without filter.

And so it all comes spilling out.

“I hate Chloe Beale. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her,” the tiny brunette sobs, wiping at her eyes furiously. Her thick — previously perfect — eyeliner is already smudged by now, and her eyes are heavily ringed with black, the tears streaking through the makeup. She knows she looks like a mess, yet she can't bring herself to care.

“You hate me?” Chloe asks, hurt filling her eyes. She ignores the urge to pull away and sits down against the wall next to Beca. Sighing softly, she shifts until she's comfortable. After pushing away her hurt — she reminds herself that Beca's drunk and clearly not thinking properly — she turns her head and regards Beca with concern.

“No, not you, Chloe,” Beca babbles, her muddled mind unable to think properly in her drunken state. She still refuses to look at the redhead beside her, even though she's convinced herself it definitely isn't the one she loves. Perhaps it's her subconscious.

“O-kay,” Chloe says hesitantly, wondering if going along with the tiny woman’s drunken words is a better idea than trying to make sense of it all. “What did she do?” She prompts, glancing down at her hands nervously. Small crescents are carved into her sweating palms, evidence of her carefully hidden hurt.

It pains Chloe to hear that Beca hates her. They're friends, or so she thought. Chloe knows she's been a bit icy with Beca recently, but it's only because she's trying to protect herself from getting heartbroken. Beca's inability to control her mouth around the gorgeous woman from DSM really irked her, even though she knows Beca isn't hers. It's not like the brunette's cheating on her or anything.

But it feels that way.

Over the years, Chloe's let herself grow attached to Beca. So attached the thinks of them as a couple in her head. She shouldn't, she knows that, but she can't help it. Even after her comment about experimentation in the tent a few weeks ago, Beca still hasn't picked up on her hints. Maybe her not-so-subtle flirting isn't as well-received as she once thought.

Watching Beca complement Kommissar so freely got to her so much she began to freeze the brunette out after the car show. Chloe began slowly distancing herself from her, hoping it would help. (It hasn't.) Her actions have clearly affected Beca negatively as well, and she internally kicks herself for not seeing it until now. Guilt twists in her stomach as she swallows thickly, waiting for Beca's reply.

“She hates me,” Beca wails softly, finally turning looking at Chloe with pained eyes as tears continue to drip down her cheeks.

The pure hurt written across her face tugs at Chloe’s heart, her stomach twisting painfully. “I’m sure she doesn’t,” she assures, the words a little strangled. It’s agony for her to see Beca so torn up over something that’s quite clearly all her fault.

 _Way to go, Chloe. Well done for fucking up everything you had with her. You had to go and ruin just because you got jealous. Get over it. She doesn’t like you, and she never will._ Chloe’s inner mologue is angry and self-loathing as she stares at the love of her life in tears.

“She does. I love her so much, and she hates me,” Beca cries, her bottom lip trembling. The confession slips out before she can stop it. She knows she should be more careful, but her tongue always loosens considerably when she’s this drunk.

Chloe freezes. Did Beca say what she thinks she said? She loves me? What? “Um, you love her?” She asks slowly, sure she must have heard wrong. There’s no way the brunette loves her, absolutely none. Chloe knows she’s been downright mean recently, and now Beca’s telling her she loves her?

 _No no no, this can’t be right. Things like his only happen in movies, not in real life. I must have heard wrong_ , she tells herself firmly, ignoring the aching disappoint that spreads in her chest.

But Beca just nods insistently, her head bobbing up and down almost violently. “I love her with all my heart, but she hates me. She hasn’t cuddled with me in months. I think—I think she figured out I’m gay. And now she hates me. She’s disgusted by my lesbianism,” Beca babbles, the words tumbling from her mouth almost incoherently. Chloe almost chuckles at Beca’s use of “lesbianism”, but then the brunette’s words sink in and she frowns.

Despite what Beca seems to think, Chloe never knew she was gay. It’s quite a surprising revelation. Sure, Beca’s always dressed a bit like a stereotypical lesbian, and Chloe has always felt major gay vibes radiating off her in waves but— Okay, so maybe it’s not that surprising.

Chloe’s snapped out of her thoughts as Beca, her mind still muddled, suddenly turns and buries her head in her chest, hiccuping as she sobs.

Beca has no idea what had possesses her to seek comfort in the woman like this; she doesn’t usually initiate hugs, let alone with a complete stranger. (She’s _still_ in denial that it’s actually Chloe.) However, something seems to be drawing her towards this woman, and she finds herself drawing comfort from the touch.

Chloe is still in shock; she has no idea what to make of the currently situation. Beca had broken down next to her, told her she hated her, confessed her love and is now trying to get close to her? It’s all a little overwhelming, if she’s honest.

Even for her, a woman who’s pretty full on all the time, this is just a bit too much. 

Feeling the tiny woman’s shoulders shake with sobs, Chloe pulls her into her lap, holding her tightly as she continues to break down. She rubs a hand in soothing circles on Beca’s back, gently rocking the woman back and forth.

Her exterior may be the picture of perfect calmness, but inside, her mind is going haywire. Guilt stabs at her gut, and she immensly regrets pushing Beca away just to save herself. How selfish. And why does Beca seem to think she’s disgusted by her? Just because she’s gay?

The knowledge sparks a flame of hope in her gut; if Beca’s gay, there’s a chance she could return her feelings. Why the hell would it disgust her? Chloe suspects that Beca’s grown up being told being gay is a sin, which would explain her thought process. It makes sense that Beca thought she was pushing her away because she’d figured out she was gay. This only makes Chloe feel worse.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Chloe coos as Beca’s tears finally began to cease. Her face is tucked now into the redhead’s neck, the soft skin wet with tears. “She most certainly doesn’t hate you. In fact, she really likes you,” Chloe whispers, fighting back tears of her own.

Seeing Beca like she is, paired with the immense guilt she feels, is starting to get to her. But no, she can’t cry. She has to stay strong for the woman she loves. There’s no time for her to be weak right now.

“No, she hates me,” Beca says firmly, refusing to back down. She doesn’t lift her face from its cosy place against Chloe’s soft neck, and the words send shivers down the redhead’s spine as Beca’s lips move against the patch of skin.

“She doesn’t.” Chloe doesn’t back down, her stubborn attitude starting to show. She never ever wants Beca to think that she hates her every again. Beca doesn’t deserve that.

“She’s so beautiful. My heart stops every time I see her, and I just want to be in her arms every day. We used to cuddle and she used to flirt with me all the time. It made me really happy. I would die for her a thousand times over.” Beca lifts her head and stares up at Chloe, her eyes shining with love. A happy smile graces her lips as her eyelids flutter shut and thoughts of the gorgeous redhead fill her head.

Chloe’s breath catches in her throat. God, Beca really _does_ love her. Her own heart fills to the brim with love, threatening to spill over. She hasn’t smiled properly in weeks, but at the brunette’s heartfelt words, she really can’t fight the smile that takes over her face.

All she has to do now is tell Beca — and make sure she knows — that she loves her. But that’s a task for tomorrow, when Beca’s completely sobered up. Now is definitely not the time for an emotional conversation.

Right now, Chloe needs to take the tiny woman to bed.

“Come on Becs, I’m taking you to bed.” Her words cause Beca to lift her head and offer her a happy smile. The brunette’s head then drops back into its original spot, tucked into Chloe’s neck.

Smiling fondly, Chloe shifts and lifts the brunette up bridle style, her heart skipping a beat when the woman snuggles further into her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around her neck. (Chloe’s a lot stronger than people give her credit for.)

“You smell like her,” Beca comments, her mind still delusional. “You look like her too. Will you love me instead? Just pretend for me, yeah? Pretend you love me.” Beca’s voice is filled with so much hope it’s painful. The brunette lifts her head to gaze up into Chloe’s eyes pleadingly.

The redhead’s heart drops to her feet at the sheer pain and desperation in Beca’s voice. She never ever wants to hear pain like that coming from her again. _God, I fucked up a lot more than I thought._

“I already do,” Chloe whispers as a small, heavy head drops tiredly back onto her chest.

Steady, even breaths ghost across her hot skin, and she realises that Beca is fast asleep. She can’t help the fond smile that plays at her lips as she pulls the small woman against her even more tightly.

* * *

Once back at her hotel room, Chloe lays Beca gently on the bed, smiling at the peaceful expression gracing the brunette’s face. She looks so gorgeous, makeup smudged, hair mussed, eyelashes still sticky with tears.

Chloe’s glad she isn’t sharing a room with another Bella. She appreciates the privacy. It also means no one else is privy to situations like this.

The redhead sighs softly as she grabs some makeup wipes and a spare set of pyjamas. She then goes about carefully wiping the ruined makeup from Beca’s delicate face, her touch gentle and caring.

Chloe tries not to blush — and fails — as she strips Beca of her dress and bra, folding them neatly over the back of a chair. Even though it’s dark in the room, she averts her eyes from perky breasts and slips her t-shirt over Beca’s head, awkwardly attempting to push skinny limbs through the appropriate holes. Dressing a sleeping woman really is rather difficult.

Finally, she tucks Beca into bed, arranging her arms and legs so she looks at least semi-comfortable. She cocks her head to the side, sure that the position isn’t a good one, but Beca’s peaceful expression persuades her to leave her as she is.

Then, after quickly changing herself, Chloe slips into her bed, making sure to keep her body a safe distance from Beca’s. She doesn’t want it to seem as though she’s taking advantage of the brunette’s sleeping, drunken self.

Chloe stares up at the ceiling, her eyelids heavy, thinking about the events of that night. She just hopes that Beca will stay long enough in the morning for her to explain the situation. What if Beca doesn’t even remember? Chloe knows from experience that the brunette often doesn’t rememeber things if she gets really drunk.

It’s as her eyelids flutter closed that she feels a warm body press against her side. Chloe’s eyes fly open, and she stiffens for a second. She turns her head to see that Beca has rolled over in the bed and draped an arm across her stomach, snuggling into her side.

Without the energy to move her, Chloe wraps her arms around the tiny brunette and lets herself drift off to sleep, her mind alive with dreams of herself and Beca.

* * *

Beca wakes slowly, the sunlight filtering in through the open curtains. Her face is pressed against something soft, something that definitely isn’t a pillow. Her legs are tangled with another pair of long limbs, and she can feel the heat radiating off the body beside her.

She stiffens instinctively. Her mind whirs, trying desperately to figure out where she is. She has no idea, absolutely no fucking clue. It’s warm, and she’s strangely comfortable — she knows that much.

Twisting round in the bed, she realises her head is resting on one soft boob. She jerks away and bolts upright, eyes wide, heart beating rapidly.

Somehow, Becs finds the courage to look at the sleeping body beside her. Her eyes almost pop out of their sockets when she sees the sleeping figure beside her. Chloe?! The redhead looks calm, happy even, a small smile playing at her lips. 

Panic coursing through her body, Beca scrambles from the bed and tumbles to the floor. She curls up into herself, trying to recall any kind of memory of the previous night. All she can remember is a gorgeous face peering down at her as she broke down in the corridor.

That’s it.

What the fuck? Did her and Chloe have sex? Why wouldn’t she remember that? She’d been stupid drunk, Beca knows that much.

As she looks down at her body, she sees that she isn’t naked, which is certainly a positive sign. But then again, she would have gotten dressed anyways; she hates sleeping naked. The oversized Barden Uni top and bright pink shorts certainly aren’t hers.

Beca panics for a minute, hoping Chloe didn’t see any of her scars. The brunette looks down and sees the angry slashes poking out from under the shorts. _God, what have I done?_ Beca desperately hopes Chloe didn’t see them, because she can’t tell her about that, not yet, not ever. 

Convinced they had sex, Beca pushes herself up from the floor and runs to her clothes, hastily slipping out of the pyjamas as she goes. She yanks on her dress, forgoing her bra; she’s only travelling down the corridor.

Beca folds the used clothes and places them on the chair, then scans the room for paper and a pen. After writing a quick note — she hopes it’s legible, because she’s kind of in a rush — she walks over to the door.

Shooting one last longing look at Chloe, she pulls it open and slips out, not trusting herself to look back.

* * *

A noise — the door clicking shut — wakes Chloe. She opens her eyes sleepily, stretching her stiff limbs languidly as she does so. When she realises she’s alone, she sighed heavily, knowing the sound that woke her was Beca leaving.

Chloe wonders why Beca left. It’s a well known fact that the brunette always choose flight over fight, so she isn’t too worried. 

But then she has a thought. 

_Shit, what if Beca doesn’t remember last night?_ Waking in bed with someone and no memory of what happened doesn’t bode well for the imagination. What if Beca thinks they slept together? Chloe knows she has to call her and make sure she knows nothing actually happened between them. (Though Chloe dares to hope something will in the future.)

Chloe throws back the covers and pads across the room to her phone, which is lying on the dresser. She spots the pyjamas Beca wore folded neatly on the chair, but there’s a white slip of paper resting on top.

Curiously, Chloe picks it up and reads it.

 _Chloe,_  
I’m sorry about last night. I hope you can forgive me. Please can we forget about it; I don’t want to make it worse.  
Beca

Chloe sighs in relief; it sounds like Beca remembers exactly what happened. The note is proof of it. She still thinks they should talk, though. She isn’t about to ignore the fact Beca confessed her love for her. Due to the brunette falling asleep, she hadn’t had a chance to return the words, and now she’s determined to do so.

Grabbing her phone, Chloe begins typing out a text to send to Beca. She sinks down onto her bed as she tries to think of what to say. She doesn’t want to freak the brunette out, especially if she’s already embarrassed by the events of last night.

* * *

Beca creeps into the room she’s sharing with Fat Amy, hoping the woman is still with Pieter (she’s almost sure that’s where the blonde went last night).

Luck seems to be on her side, so she decides to take a shower to try and relax herself. Quickly stripping herself of her ddress, Beca grabs one of the fluffy hotel-provided towels and heads to the bathroom.

Beca stands under the jet of hot water, letting it cascade over her shoulders, relishing in the heat that courses through her body. God, she can’t believe it. She had sex with Chloe Beale.

And she doesn’t remember it.

Beca isn’t sure if she regrets it; it’s hard to when she doesn’t even remember anything. It’s still sinking in, really. Now that Beca thinks about it, she realises she’s wanted to have sex with Chloe since meeting her. Her confusion over her sexual orientation had led her astray, but now? Now she realises just how gay she’d been for Chloe since the very start.

It’s almost impossible to believe they they actually, finally had sex. Beca’s imagined it, of course she has, but it was never like this in her head. She’d pictured scented candles, dim lighting and perhaps some rose petals. She’d pictured raw lust and aggressive touches. She’d pictured desperation, fumbling hands and hushed moans.

But never this.

All Beca has to do now is avoid Chloe. That’s easier said than done, though, because they’re all flying back tomorrow, and her seat is next to Chloe’s on the plane. And, if Beca knows the redhead as well as she thinks she does, she knows that Chloe’s going to want to talk.

Beca knows she should talk to Chloe. She needs to. She has no idea where they currently stand. Are they friends? Does Chloe hate her? What actually happened? Beca has more than a few questions to ask, but she’s scared.

Scared that the answers won’t be what she wants them to be. Scared that Chloe really _does_ hate her. Scared that she’s never going to see Chloe again once they get home. They’ve officially graduated. What next?

Beca stands under the hot spray a little longer, trying to drown out her thoughts. They grow louder and louder until she abruptly shuts off the shower, ignoring the urge to grab her razor. She’s trying to stop, she really is.

For Chloe.

Even though the redhead has no idea — or at least she _hopes_ she doesn’t — Beca still wants to try and stay clean for her. It’s been four days since she last cut. Her record is ten days, so she’s trying to make it to at _least_ eleven.

It’s hard, but she’ll get there.

Beca steps out of the shower and wraps a towel round her small figure. She stops in front of the mirror and watches as droplets of water trickle down her shoulders and melt into the towel. Beca takes in her sharpened cheekbones and sunken eyes, dark circles smudged beneath them.

She knows she doesn’t look too good.

Wincing slightly, she grabs a glass of water and two headache tablets from the side. Beca swallows them quickly, hoping they’ll take effect soon. Today really isn’t a good day for a hangover.

As Beca walks back into the room, she’s met with the sight of Fat Amy, sitting on her bed, staring right at her. She lets out a small squeal of shock, instinctively wrapping her towel even more tightly round her body. She doesn’t want there to be any risk of it slipping. Beca’s also never been more thankful she doesn’t cut on her arms. 

“God Amy, you scared me!” Beca hisses as she rushes over to her side of the room. She swallows uncomfortably as she comes to a stop in front of her suitcase. It’s not like she can just drop her towel and start getting changed, is it?

“Hey short stack, what’s got you down?” Fat Amy asks suddenly, her eyebrows creasing as she frowns.

“What makes you say that?” Beca shoots back immediately, wondering if her lingering sadness is that obvious. Clearly it is. Well, to Amy, anyway. (Beca swears she can never get anything past that woman.)

“You look pretty upset. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Beca lies, rummaging through her case with one hand to pull out some clean clothes. She makes sure to grip the corners of her towel tightly as she moves around.

“So this has nothing to do with you leaving the party with Chloe Beale then” Amy questions knowingly, suppressing a sly grin.

“How did you know that?!” Beca squeaks. She swears Amy had an inhuman memory; she can remember things vividly from _years_ ago. 

“I saw you leaving together.” Amy sits back on Beca’s bed, watching the small brunette’s growing distress. It’s mildly concerning, but then the blonde remembers Beca is definitely hungover, which tends to heighten her emotions. (And by emotions, she means negative ones.)

“You saw us? What were we doing?” Beca’s heart begins to beat wildly in anticipation. Now she may finally be able to get an insight into what actually happened. Beca thinks that if her and Chloe were about to have sex, they would probably have been kissing or something.

“Don’t you remember?” Now it’s Amy’s turn to look confused, clearly baffled by the whole situation. She’d assumed Beca remembered everything, but obviously not.

“Uh, not exactly.” The small brunette scratches the back of her neck awkwardly, a faint blush rising to her cheeks as she shifts her weight from foot to foot.

“Oh, well all I saw was her carrying you away into the elevator,” the Australian recalls, a thoughtful look falling over her face.

“Carrying me?”

“Yeah you pretty knocked out to me,” Amy says shrugging.

“I passed out drunk?” Beca finds herself getting more and more confused by the minute. From what Amy’s saying, it sounds highly unlikely that they actually had sex; it’s not like Chloe would do anything to her if she was knocked out. The knot of worry in her stomach loosens a little.

“From what I saw, yeah.”

“So we didn’t...” Beca trails off, still too scared to say the words out loud. Saying them out loud makes it sound real, too real, whether it actually happened or not.

“You thought you had sex? I highly doubt it,” Amy assures, eliciting a sigh of relief from the brunette. The blonde raises in eyebrow curiously at the reaction.  
Beca breathes out a sigh of relief, reassured by Amy’s words. The blonde has an extremely good memory, one Beca is now insanely jealous of. Because of this, Beca trusts her recall stories truthfully.

Her small bubble of relief is popped when her phone chimes from its position on her bed.

The knot of worry tightens again and her stomach twists painfully once more. Heart beating rapidly, Beca picks up her phone with shaking hand. She presses her thumb to the home button and unlocks the screen. She opens the text just as Fat Amy disappears into the bathroom, presumably to shower.

Her eyes scan over the message, her heartbeat in her throat.

_Hi Beca, I think we should talk about last night. I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but we really should. I just can’t ignore what you said. Please can meet me at Roni’s in half an hour; I’ll be there waiting. Chloe xx_

Panic rises inside Beca’s chest as her mind starts spinning, her brain working at a million miles per hour. She has a hangover and all the thinking _hurts_. Beca wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and die, but no, here she is, trying to piece together last night. If they hadn’t had sex, then what actually happened? _Shit shit shiiiiit._ Something bad must have happened; it was obviously something they need to have a serious conversation about.

The thought scares Beca, because there are a _lot_ of things she’d hate Chloe to find out. 

Her thighs itch again. Growling softly under her breath, Beca drops her towel and quickly pulls on her clothes. Years of hiding her secret have taught her how to change so fast no one sees anything.

Once Beca’s changed, she shoots Chloe a quick text, telling her that she’ll leave imminently. Beca pulls on her sneakers as she moves towards the door, throwing a quick goodbye to Fat Amy over her shoulder. 

* * *

Beca sees Chloe sitting in the window of the coffee shop, sipping at a drink — definitely a caramel latte, because that’s all she ever seems to get. The redhead looks deep in thought, a pensive looked scrawled across her face.

Beca opens the door and the bell chimes, causing Chloe to glance up hopefully. A wide smile breaks out on her face when she sees who it is. The redhead beckons her over, as she drains her coffee.

As Beca approaches the table, a blush creeps into her cheeks; why does Chloe’s smile affect her so much? The redhead smiles _all the time_ , so Beca’s not unused to the fluttering in her stomach she feels.

“Thanks for coming, Beca,” Chloe greets, her bright smile slipping slightly at Beca’s uncomfortable expression. She keeps her smile tentative this time, and gestures for the brunette to take a seat opposite her.

“No problem,” Beca begins, anticipation rising inside her. She _needs_ to know what happened. The suspense is killing her. “So, uh—“

“Wait, can I say something first?” Chloe interrupts, her smile turning sheepish as she blushes. The redhead fiddles with the handle of her mug, tracing the ceramic slowly.

“Oh, yeah.” Beca sits back awkwardly in her chair, hoping that Chloe will explain what happened without her having to ask. Conversations like these always spark her anxiety and cause her to either stutter or completely freeze up. Beca hopes neither happens.

“I just wanted to say that you didn’t need to run away. What you told me made me very happy, and in fact, I feel the same. I know we’re flying home tomorrow and then going our separate ways, but I know we could make this work,” Chloe says, trying to stay calm. Nerves bubble in her gut, but she pushes them down, telling herself to stay confident and strong.

Chloe’s biggest fear is that Beca doesn’t want what she does. She doesn’t want to have to go back to loving Beca in silence, fearful of getting too close. She doesn’t want her heart broken again and again every time Beca gets a new partner.

“Wait, what?” Beca has no idea what to say to Chloe’s words. She still has no idea what happened between them. Beca knows she can be a bit dense sometimes — a lot of he time, according to Amy — but she currently nothing to work with. What did she say? Chloe feels the same? The same as what? Beca has to know. “Look, Chloe, I—”

Chloe’s face falls, the hurt clear in her eyes. Her shoulders sag as she crumbles, her heart shattering in her chest. Beca’s drunken confession must have been a load of bullshit. “I understand, I must have misread the situation and, uh, I’m—”

“No no, that’s not what I was saying, I just wanted to know—”

“—so sorry I wasted your time. I’m going to go now,” Chloe babbles hurriedly, fighting back the tears that are starting to prick at the corners of her eyes. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt a rejection this painful. Her heart cracks in her chest, the fragile organ splittingin two as she swallows back her tears. 

Chloe stands up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the wooden flooring. Beca rises too, confusion clear on her face. The brunette has no fucking clue what’s going on, or what the redhead is talking about, but she knew she can’t let her leave.

“No, Chloe, wait,” Beca protests, trying to grab hold of Chloe’s wrist before she escaped. It slips through her grasp, and the older woman disappears out of the door of the shop, the bell chiming obnoxiously after her.

Beca’s mind catches up with her and she bolts after Chloe, determined not to let her get away. The redhead is already quite a way from her, running quickly down the street, her fiery hair flying out behind her.

“Wait! Chloe, please, wait!” Beca yells, breaking into a run. Her voice falters as Chloe begins to disappear from view. She _can’t_ let her escape.

She’s never been good at running — or any cardio for that matter — so speeding after Chloe is proving to be a bit of a problem. Even with Aubrey’s rigourous training last year, Beca still lacks the level of fitness Chloe has.

When Beca finally catches up with Chloe, she’s panting for breath and her legs numb. She grabs the redhead’s wrist and clings onto it tightly. Chloe stops and turns to face the sweaty brunette, guilt filling her eyes.

“Beca, are you okay?” She asks tentatively, watching as Beca sways unsteadily on the pavement.

“Yes yes, I’m fine,” the brunette assures, waving off her concern. She does feel a little dizzy though, and her vision blurs slightly. Beca vows to do more cardio now that she’s graduated. Still determined to say what she didn’t have a chance to, she tries to shake it off.

“Look, I wasn’t rejecting you back there. If I’m honest, I don’t remember a thing about last night. I assumed we slept together, but Fat Amy told me otherwise. I really don’t remember what happened. Sorry if you thought my confusion was me rejecting you over whatever it was,” Beca explains slowly, placing a hand on her chest in an attempt to ground herself. She does feel rather lightheaded actually.

“Oh thank god, I just assumed you remembered from the note you left and—” Chloe’s cut off as the tiny woman before her begins to sway dangerously, her legs collapsing beneath her. She darts forwards and catches the brunette as she crumbles to the ground.

“Beca, please wake up.” Chloe chews on her bottom lip furiously as she shakes the small woman. God, this is all her fault. If only she had stayed in the cafe, Beca wouldn’t have been forced to sprint after her, and she wouldn’t be passed out in her arms.

Scooping Beca up in her arms bridal style, she pulls out her phone and calls 911. They’re too far from the hotel for her to carry Beca there — she’s not that strong — and plus, she doesn’t really want to take her back in case something is wrong.

The ambulance arrives minutes later and Beca’s lifted into the back on a stretcher. Chloe supposes its a little dramatic to call an ambulance, but she’s so overwhelmed. Tears run down her cheeks as she climbs in after Beca, hugging her waist tightly.

* * *

Beca realises she’s in a hospital as soon as she wakes up. The strong smell of disenfectant invades her senses and she wrinkles her nose up in disgust. Chloe is next to her bed, clutching her hand, cheeks wet and flushed. As soon as she notices Beca’s awake, her eyes light up happily.

“Beca, you’re awake!” Chloe squeezes Beca’s hand tightly.

“Thank god, I was so worried.” Chloe offers her a tentative smile, drawing small circles on the palm of her hand.

Beca smiles weakly at her, glad the redhead is still with her. “What happened?” Her mind is still a little fuzzy; her hangover probably doesn’t help matters either.

“You passed out after running for so long; it’s all my fault. I’m sorry,” Chloe says guiltily, trying not to cry as she remembers the brunette collapsing before her eyes.

“It’s not your fault, Chlo.” Beca hates that Chloe’s blaming herself for what happened. 

The redhead often shifts the blame onto her own shoulders though. Beca remembers her crying after every failed performance, wailing that every mistake made was all her fault. Chloe’s getting better at accepting when things aren’t her fault, but Beca remembers how bad things used to be when Aubrey was the captain of the Bellas.

Beca takes a deep breath and resta her head back against the pillows. “What happened last night, Chloe?”

The redhead swallows thickly, glancing down before meeting the brunette’s gaze. “You were drunk, really drunk, and you fell over. You started telling me how you hated this person called Chloe – I assumed you meant me, but you talked as if it was a different person. You said that you loved her, but she hated you because she found out you were gay. You passed out before I could get a word in, really. I carried you back to my room and we fell asleep. Nothing happened, I promise,” Chloe explains, her palms starting to sweat.

She presses her nails firmly into the skin, trying to control her emotions. What if Beca tells her she was just drunk and it was all a lie? Or that she meant it about someone else?

“I-I did?” Beca asks worriedly, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment. What does Chloe think of her now? _God, I’m so fucking stupid. Curse my stupid drunk mouth._

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Beca whispers, aghast.

“What? Why are you sorry?”

“Well, you do hate me, don’t you? And well, you haven’t exactly been the nicest to me over the past few weeks. Do you hate me for being gay? Is it that? I’m sorry I told you, can we please forget it?” Beca buries her face in her hands and blinks back the tears that threaten to fall.

“Beca Mitchell, I do not hate you.” Chloe’s voice is soft and tender as she pulls the small woman’s hands away from her face. “I’m sorry for pushing you away. I just— You started flirting with that blonde woman from DSM and it just annoyed me. I got— _god_ , this is so embarrassing—I got jealous. I’m sorry, I really am. It was wrong of me and it clearly hurt you a lot. But please, I don’t want to forget what you said. You told me you loved me.”

Beca’s breath catches in her throat. Chloe was _jealous_? Jealous of her complementing Kommissar? What the fuck? Why would Chloe be still? _Wait. Does Chloe have a crush on Kommissar?_ Beca’s heart cracks a little in her chest.

There’s absolutely no chance Chloe loves her back, not if she was jealous of her interactions with Kommissar. Beca wonders how long Chloe’s had a crush on the blonde. Even though Beca’s always known deep down that nothing will ever happen between her and Chloe, it still stings to hear it coming from the redhead herself.

“Well, it’s not like you like me back, so can we just—”

Beca’s cut off when a pair of soft pink lips pressed onto hers. The kiss is gentle, like a whisper, a caress. It’s Chloe’s way of testing the waters to see whether Beca will kiss back or push her away.

When Beca eagerly kisses back, both women smile. They keep it light and chaste, both blushing furiously as their lips move in tandem. Beca blushes furiously as she realises what this means. Chloe hasn’t been jealous of her, she’d been jealous of _Kommissar_.

“I love you so much Beca,” Chloe finally confesses, pressing a small kiss to Beca’s nose. 

“I love you too.” The brunette giggles softly, unable to help the grin that stretches across her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it! please let me know what you thought :)


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